The Lessons
by devonshire64
Summary: Dean's first hunt with John may become his last.


_Hello everyone. this is a little thing i've been thinking about since writing about it in my other story 'on the turning away'. this is a one shot, and part of the something lost series. it's one of two based on two events mentioned in that story. as always, enjoy :) let me know what you think. _

**D: this is all just for fun!**

**THE LESSONS**

The woods were dark, the high canopy blocking out the milky glow of the full moon. A light, steady breeze blew through the overgrown forest, the movement of the few remaining leaves the only sound in the heavy night. It was a dangerous night, a dark night, the kind of night when evil lurked. It was as if all that was natural, all that was normal hid away, disappeared into the shadows, sensing death in the air. It was the kind of night John Winchester had fallen into long ago. It was a hunter's night. There were no crickets, no owls, no mice. No, the only things that lurked on such a night were the dark things, the unnatural things.

John's grip tightened on the handgun, his dark eyes scanning every inch of the forest, studying every shadow, as if daring them to move. His body tensed as a breeze picked up, making the trees bend and sway almost as though they were living beings. The hunter moved forward quietly, he himself nothing more than a shadow in the dark night. He was in his element, stalking his supernatural prey— it wouldn't be long now.

He'd been tracking the black dog for the last four days, having gotten wind of the creature halfway through his last hunt. It was a simple in and out, the creature— in the same family of shape-shifters— could be put down with a silver bullet, which was why John decided it would be a good hunt to bring Dean in on. His eldest son had been helping with research for the past year, learning the trade from the bottom up. The blonde was a good shot, too, and had been training religiously— it was time he went on his first hunt.

John turned to his right, his eyes locking on the form of his fourteen year old son. Dean was deep in the shadows, invisible unless you knew where to look— just like John had trained him. Sam had insisted Dean was too young, but John knew he was ready. Dean was born ready. It was something that deeply unnerved John, though he'd never openly admit it. Dean seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to hunting, it was something the senior Winchester had never seen before.

John signaled Dean, his son nodding once before moving further into the shadows. The black dog was close, John could feel it— it wouldn't be long now. He crept further into the bushes, moving with silent steps. He knew the black dog was stalking them, and they needed to maintain the upper hand. John focused again on the night, moving around the edges of the small clearing, the still night air closing in around him, the bright moon light shining through the clearing like a beacon.

John slowed his breathing, listening to the world around him. The entire forest bent and swayed, almost as though it itself was a living entity. John froze, stealing himself against the sounds, cursing the winds as they picked up, muffling the steps of the black dog. As cut and dry as the hunt was, John knew it was still dangerous. Hell, he and Tom Harrison had been arguing about it for the last week. They were currently hunting in south easter Montana, only a few hours from the Harrisons' home in Valley, Wyoming. John liked when he hunted near the other family.

There were a number of reasons why the seasoned hunter liked the stop over. One, Tom Harrison had one of the best research libraries in the country, plus a side business of making ammo free for fellow hunters. More importantly was the open invitation Tom had extended to John and his boys. It was a place where both Sam and Dean would be safe— and it was a hell of a lot cheaper than monthly stays in motels. But, the older the boys grew, the more arguments Tom and he seemed to have.

Tom was the father of two children himself— daughters. And while they were roughly the same ages as Sam and Dean, they couldn't have been more different. It was a constant point of contention. John was raising his boys to be hunters, and Tom didn't believe it was fair. However, while Tom stood on his soapbox, preaching how Sam and Dean were missing out on their childhood, he failed to see the validity in John's argument. His boys could protect themselves, Tom's girls couldn't.

A twig snapped behind him, pulling him back into the moment. John cursed— he couldn't afford to get lost in his thoughts. He peered around the edges of the clearing, searching for Dean— but his son was keeping to the shadows, hidden from the world. Suddenly, another shadow caught the hunter's attention, the bulking form of the black dog materializing out of the darkness in front of him. From that point on, every moment, every movement counted.

John raised his handgun, moving forward slightly, taking care not to give away his location. The black dog was right in the middle of the clearing, just standing there, its dark eyes scanning the edges of the clearing. It was acting like a sitting duck. John smiled at his good fortune, maybe he'd be able to get back to civilization a little bit sooner. He didn't question the actions of his prey, didn't think it strange that the creature was acting like a pub playing the the forest. The hunter smirked, obviously these creatures had never heard of the Winchesters.

The dog sat back on its haunches, its gaze falling on the area of the forest John was hiding in, almost like it could see him. He held his breath, blending in with the shadows all around him as the dog continued to stare. _What the hell?_ A moment later the dog looked away, a long, deep howl bellowing from it, echoing around the forest. Almost instantly another sound made John's blood run cold. It was Dean— and he was screaming.

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Dean walked quietly around the forest, circling the clearing, but at a greater distance than his father. He was there for back-up. He just had to keep an eye on his dad, make sure the older man knew the whereabouts of the black dog at all times. He just wanted this hunt to be over. It was the first time since his little brother was born that he'd been away from Sammy for any length of time. He and his dad had been tracking the black dog for four days— four days without Sam. It was like his family wasn't really there, like he was living in a black hole. He knew he little brother was safe with the Harrisons, but that didn't change the longing in Dean's heart. He wanted his brother to be with him.

Dean stilled when he caught sight of the black dog, the creature meandering around the clearing. It was odd. They'd had so much trouble tracking the thing, had spent night after night in the cold forest, searching for even the smallest trace of it— and now it was standing in the middle of the clearing like a target practice cut out. Dean's eyes drifted to where he knew his father was, the older man nothing more than an outline in the dark shadow of the tree line. He saw his father move slightly, the glint of the moonlight on the gun the only sign that his dad was lining up the shot. But, before he could get the shot off, the black dog howled.

Dean stood still for a few seconds, wondering what the hell was going on. He didn't even hear the other black dog until it attacked. The creature jumped on his back, claws digging into him like white hot fire. The teen screamed before he could stop himself, surprised by the raw pain lacing his own voice. He was forced to the ground by the weight of the creature, his face buried into the mossy ground as the black dog went for the back of his neck. The only thought in Dean's mind, though, was Sam. He wondered if his little brother would be ok without him.

The sound of gunshots broke through the heavy air, the black dog leaping off his back as his father crashed through the clearing. But Dean couldn't move. He felt the darkness creeping around him, like arms reaching up to pull him away. His body was numb, the warm rush of his own blood barely noticeable as the void tried to pull him away. He vaguely registered hearing his name, gunshots punctuating the heavy night as the two black dogs growled. He was almost gone when he heard his name again.

"Dean! MOVE!"

Dean wanted to, god he wanted to, but his body wasn't listening to him. He pulled his arms to him, the limbs like led. His dad told him to move, maybe that was enough. He heard his father yell again, the older man's voice mixing with his own guttural scream as one of the black dogs found him again. The creature caught him on the side of the head, flipping him over with such force Dean was sure he'd just had his neck broken. He laid on the wet ground, dazed, not even able to catch his breath before the creature attacked again. Survival took over.

The black dog bore down on his throat, trying to kill. Dean raised his arms, pushing the dog's muzzle away with a strength he didn't know he had. The creature, undeterred, lunged for his right shoulder, its teeth digging in, ripping through skin and muscle, rendering his arm useless. He knew what it was doing, ripping him apart bit by bit, taking away his ability to defend himself. Dean weakly wondered where his dad was— had the other dog already killed him. The fourteen year old's last conscious thought was at least Sam was with the Harrisons, at least he was safe.

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John came to only a few seconds after the hit. He'd managed to take out the bigger of the two dogs, but its mate was another story. Two, how the hell had he missed the fact that there were two dogs? His son's broken cry brought him back fully, the hunter shaking his head, the world around him spinning as he pushed himself to his feet. He almost threw up at the sight before him. The dog was laying on Dean, its enormous paws digging into the teen's chest, his head buried in his shoulder. John didn't waste a second. He fired at the thing's back, the creature jumping off his son, turning blood red eyes to him.

Before it could move, though, John unloaded the entire clip into the massive beast. He knew the second had killed it, but he didn't care. One shot, two shots, three, four— he'd lost count. He only stopped shooting when he ran out of bullets. He kicked the creature once for good measure, wishing he had another clip to unload into it, but the sight of Dean had his mind moving in another direction.

Dean was pale, his dark eyelashes standing out against his milky skin. There was blood everywhere. John felt his knees buckle as he made it to his young son's side, his hands shaking as he searched for a pulse. He nearly collapsed in relief when he found one, weak and erratic, but there none the less. John didn't waste a second. He scooped the boy up in his arms, his heart hammering in his chest as Dean's head rolled limply to the side, his body nothing but dead weight. What the hell had he done?

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Sam was nervous. He'd always worried when his dad hunted, but until now, he'd always had Dean to calm his fears. Now, now Dean was off on the hunt as well and Sam was beside himself. He'd begged his dad to leave Dean behind— begged him— but that didn't deter the man. John wanted Dean to hunt, he was going to hunt. But that was four days ago, and Sam couldn't help the dread that was growing inside of him. Dean had called him earlier that day, letting him know they'd found the black dog and were going after it that very night. He promised they'd be home by morning. But even his big brother's promise couldn't lessen Sam's fears. No, he wouldn't be completely at ease until Dean was back home where he belonged.

"Dinner's ready, Sam." Tom Harrison spoke, leaning into the room Sam and Dean shared.

"I'm not really hungry."

"Sam?"

"I'm worried, something's wrong."

"You've said the same thing the last three nights. I'm as pissed off as you are with John, but your dad's really good at what he does. Dean's gonna be fine."

Sam just sat, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn't know how or why, but he knew his brother wasn't alright. He smiled to Tom anyway, though, letting the hunter think he'd managed to cheer him up. No one believed him, no one ever did, and Sam had learned over time it was just easier to play along.

Dinner was quiet. Evelyn was trying to draw him into a conversation, but Sam's heart wasn't in it. He just pushed his food around the plate, his eyes drifting to Kerri every few minutes. She looked just as lost as he was. Sam knew Dean and Kerri were very close, knew Kerri was the only person Dean had ever considered a friend, and he had seen the fear in her eyes when Dean had mentioned the hunt. Kerri agreed wholeheartedly with Sam— fourteen was way too young to be hunting. Hell, if it was up to them, Dean would never hunt at all.

The kid was like a magnet for trouble, the bad guys finding him no matter what— actually going out and looking for them should have been way low on his list of things to do. Sam still remembered the Watcher, still remembered the fear that gripped his heart when his brother and Kerri went missing, when he had to pull Dean's nearly lifeless body from the ice cold lake. It had been too close then, and they weren't even on a hunt. Sam shivered, something was wrong, he could feel it in his bones.

He decided to go up to bed after dinner, tired of people trying to cheer him up, trying to dismiss his fears. He'd be happy again when Dean was back, end of story. Try as he might, though, the ten year old couldn't get to sleep that night. He just laid there in the dark, staring at his older brother's empty bed. For the fourth night in a row, Sam wished the older boy was there, snoring away. The room was too empty without him.

Sam's heart began to pound in his chest when he heard the distant sound of the phone ringing. He looked up at the clock 4:30 a.m. Each ring was like a nail to his heart, people didn't call at four in the morning unless it was bad— really, really bad. The brunette pushed the blankets away, running down the hall to where he knew Tom Harrison was. He'd just made it to the bottom step when he heard the older man's voice.

"John?"

The silence as Tom listened to his dad talk was almost worse than the haunting ring of the phone. The young boy turned when he heard a sound behind him, Kerri creeping down the stairs. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Where are you?— We can be there in a few hours— no, John— I think it's better, they're gonna need—. How long?— yeah—. John, how bad is it?"

The last four words almost brought Sam to his knees. Dean wasn't coming home.

"They're sleeping.— a couple days, yeah."

"No." Sam screamed, making Tom jump and turn, the dark haired man nearly dropping the phone.

"Go back to bed, Sam." Tom's words were curt, rough, and oh so different from the way he normally spoke.

"No. What happened to Dean, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me." Sam yelled, rushing into the room.

"Dad?" Kerri's quiet voice was like a sledgehammer. Tears were running down her face as she stepped into the light, her blue eyes shinning with fear.

"Yeah, John, I'm here." Tom turned back to the phone, his back to the kids. "Did they tell you anything yet? John, I need to tell them something." Tom whispered— and Sam knew it was worse than bad.

The hunter let out a long sigh, John and Tom obviously coming to the same conclusion. "We'll be there in a couple hours." and with that, Tom hung up the phone. "Kerri." he began, turning to the kids. "I need you to go and get a few spare blankets and pillows, and get your shoes on. Sam, help her, I'll go get Evelyn."

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked, his voice small. At that moment, he wasn't the son of a hunter, he was just a scared kid.

"He's at the hospital, Sam."

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Sam was curled up under the blankets, but he couldn't stop the chills that had overtaken his body. His brother, his Dean, was in the hospital and no one would tell him how bad it was. But the fact that he, Tom, Kerri and Evelyn had left for the hospital in the middle of the night gave Sam all the information he needed. His brother was hurt, and it was bad.

He looked over at Evelyn, the brunette asleep on the other side of the firebird. She'd barely woken up when Tom had moved her, carrying the eleven year old down the stairs and placing her beside Sam. Kerri, she sat as still as stone in the passenger seat. Tom had wrapped a blanket around her, whispering a few calming words to her, but she didn't flinch. Losing Dean would destroy them all, that much Sam knew for certain.

After what felt like an eternity Tom pulled into the parking garage of the hospital. Sam was on auto pilot, following behind Kerri, Tom leading the way with a sleeping Evelyn still in his arms. The lights were bright, making Sam squint after the near total darkness of the car. His heart was beating painfully in his chest. Dean was in there somewhere, behind some door, and all Sam wanted to do was find him.

"John."

Tom's voice broke through Sam's thoughts, the young boy turning wide eyes to his father. Yes, Dean was very, very bad. Dad was sitting in the hard plastic chair, his head in his hands, jacket and jeans covered in what Sam knew was blood— Dean's blood. The ten year old suddenly felt sick. This had to be a nightmare, it couldn't be anything else. "Dad?" Sam whispered, swallowing a few times, he had to be strong for his brother.

"Sammy." John breathed, looking up— Sam was startled to see tears in his father's eyes.

Suddenly, Sam was a little boy again, and all he wanted was his dad. He ran into his father's arms, his dad holding onto him like a lifeline, like letting him go would mean the end of the world. Yes, Dean was in very, very, very bad shape.

"John, what happened?" Tom asked, laying Evelyn on the seat beside him, her head resting on his lap. Kerri had chosen a seat well away from the rest of them.

"There were two. The damn things set a trap, I didn't see it."

"And Dean?"

Dad just looked up, his dark eyes locking on Tom's, letting the other hunter know just how bad it really was. Tom was saved from answering when a man in scrubs entered the room.

"Family of Dean Winchester?"

"Here." Dad began, his voice surprisingly weak sounding in Sam's ears. "How is he?"

"Lucky. We managed to stop the bleeding. His arm will be immobile for a few months, what we're most worried about his his head and neck."

"Neck?"

"His head must have been snapped back during the attack, there's significant swelling. At the moment, he's unable to move."

"What?" Dad breathed, falling back into the chair. Sam was just staring at the doctor, trying to process the man's words. "Are you saying—."

"It's too early to tell. As far as we can see, it's just swelling. The MRI showed no major damage to his spinal cord. But again, it's too early to tell the full extent of his injuries."

"What about his head?"

"He suffered from a concussion, pretty sever. There's some swelling, at the moment we're monitoring it. Surgery would be a last resort."

"But he's alive?"

Sam's eyes snapped to his father— had he really thought Dean was dead? Had it really been that bad?

"Yes. Like I said, your son was very lucky. We repaired his arm and shoulder, though he'll need therapy in order to regain full use of it. And until the swelling in his head and neck go down, he'll need to stay in the hospital."

"Thank you." Sam heard his father speak, though his voice sounded a million miles away. Dean, his Dean, his hero was broken.

"Can I see him?" Sam asked, holding onto his father's arm.

"He's in recovery at the moment." the doctor smiled sadly. "Once he's moved to a room, immediate family can visit."

"What?" Kerri asked, speaking for the first time since the entire awful ordeal began.

"Only immediate family is allowed."

"Why?" she looked down right terrified.

"Cousins don't count?" Tom began before the doctor could speak again, the lie slipping easily from him. "Dean and Kerri are cousins, but they're like brother and sister. Are you sure you can't make an exception."

"I'm sorry, Sir, but it is hospital policy."

Kerri looked like she'd just been broken in half, the thirteen year old sinking back into the seat, her eyes wide and haunted. A week ago she and Dean had been planning for her fourteenth birthday, and now she was facing the reality of never seeing him again.

In that instant Sam made himself a promise— there was no way Dean was hunting again, not if he could help it.

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John rested his head in his hands, his mind running over the hunt for probably the hundredth time. How could he have missed the second one? How could he have let it get the drop, put Dean in danger like that? It had been a week since that fateful nigh, but to John, it felt like it had just happened. He could still feel his son's blood running over his hands, Dean's limp body sagging against his own as he ran from the woods. The drive to the hospital had been the longest drive in John's life. It had been like losing Mary— times a thousand.

It was the first time he'd felt fear, real honest to god fear. Parents weren't supposed to carry their dying children into a hospital— it wasn't natural. John scrubbed at his face, standing to get another cup of coffee, he couldn't dwell on what could have happened. Dean was alive, and by some miracle of god, he'd been given a clean bill of health— full recovery expected. This had been close, too close.

John listened to the sounds of the old house, grateful for Tom and everything the other man had done. Dean would be laid up for a long time, and Tom had graciously offered his house for as long as the small family needed. John knew he'd be leaving again soon, having gotten word about a hunt in New Mexico, but this time, both his boys were staying home. He'd been wrong to bring his fourteen year old son in on the hunt, he knew that now— hell he knew that then. Someday he'd try it again, but that someday was a long way off.

The sudden urge to see his children overwhelmed the father. He got another cup of coffee before making his way up the old stairs. It was three a.m but for the life of him, John couldn't sleep. His heart sank a little when he neared the room his boys shared— the scene before him the same as the night before, and the night before that. He knew Sam would be curled up in bed beside his brother. The ten year old had woken up every hour on the hour crying, only calming down when he was certain Dean was beside him.

But, even more heartbreaking was Kerri. She was laying on a sleeping bag in the hallway, like a sleeping sentry. Every night Tom would usher her back up to her own room, and as soon as her dad went to bed, Kerri would sneak back down. John knew the two teenagers were close, closer perhaps than they should have been, but he wasn't about to stand in the way of the growing friendship. When he'd first driven to Valley all those years ago Dean had been like a robot, a shell of the child he had once been. But meeting Kerri had changed all that, offered the blonde boy a lifeline, and for that, John would always be grateful.

He leaned down, pulling the blanket back up over the redhead's shoulders, smoothing back her bangs. Her birthday had been two days ago, and as a gift, he'd brought Dean back to her broken. He'd promised the teen would be ok, had looked Kerri in the eye and told her nothing would happen to Dean— and he'd been wrong. John was afraid he'd lost the young girl's trust forever. He looked back down at her again, smiling as memories came back to him. Had it really only been five months since Dean dropped the gum in her hair? It felt like a lifetime— and for Dean, it almost was.

John stood up, moving into his boys' room. Dean was out cold, but then he'd spent most of the last few days asleep. The hospital had released him on Kerri's birthday but the painkillers they'd sent him home with made him more of a zombi than anything. But John didn't care, his son was alive, at home, and he had managed to escape permanent injury. When the doctor first told him about Dean's neck, he had been terrified. He went back over every move he made, nearly throwing up when he remembered roughly picking up his son, Dean's head lolling against his arm like a rag-doll. Had his actions caused his son to be paralyzed, John wasn't sure he would have been able to face the boy again.

But, like Mary always used to say, angels must have been watching over him. John knew he didn't deserve the angels, knew he'd made too many mistakes to earn their grace— but he prayed each and every day that those same angels Mary had believed in were watching out for his boys. After all, Sam and Dean deserved as many angels as heaven could spare.


End file.
